07-21-2010, 12:00 AM
[html]496 Harlowe. Set at Nereid.
With increasing frequency there were nights Nayru opted not to return at all to the home she shared with so many others. The heat of the summer was actually rather quite pleasant after the sun had dipped below the horizon and the breeze kicked up. Standing atop the cliffs on the west shore of Dahlia’s peninsula the effect of the breeze was twice as pleasant, even greater when the breeze came up off the salted water’s surface. It was there Nayru had begun to spend some solitary nights, which no one questioned her about. At six months, closer to seven, she was fine on her own, at least within the pack lands. Though ever friendly and polite to all she chose to spend more and more time alone, even as she grew closer to Conor and Gideon. And Nayru was sure that with this sudden streak of independence the white lady had left her. If the white lady had ever been a separate being at all.
Only weeks before Nayru had accepted the dream creature’s presence every night as reality. Now she was not so certain. If the older wolf had been real, why did she leave now? Nayru began to believe it had been childish fantasies. And that night, the last time Nayru saw the white lady, when she had actually appeared outside of a dream, Nayru wrote that off too. She had been tired and thinking too hard. Spirits and dreams and such did not exist, not outside of one’s own mind. Even that cat, the one she had almost though was a spirit, so strange, it was just a cat. How silly she had been. Now though, now Nayru felt she was at the half way point to adulthood. She could shape her own mind, question reality, forget her naive beliefs as errors of childhood, and it was easier to do these things alone, at night, and especially overlooking the water crashing against the shore fifty feet below.
Nereid, as that was what the place was called Nayru learned, was beautiful. Wolfville was alright, Berwick almost beautiful and the vineyards were secluded and lonely most days. Nereid was abandoned but not lonely, at least not during the night. Too comfortable in herself to feel lonely, Nayru pondered her growing fondness for some of the lands in Dahlia de Mai. Before she had come here because she had been told to, she had not thought it over, but now Nayru didn’t see a reason to leave. She liked Dahlia, the spring, the island with the birds, and these cliffs. She liked the members of the pack, they were, in general, good wolves. Yes, she would stay. But in Conor’s house? She wasn’t sure, there might be a time when she preferred her old room there to the solitude of Nereid, but if she was going to jump into her own self and away from the others now was as good a time as any.
With increasing frequency there were nights Nayru opted not to return at all to the home she shared with so many others. The heat of the summer was actually rather quite pleasant after the sun had dipped below the horizon and the breeze kicked up. Standing atop the cliffs on the west shore of Dahlia’s peninsula the effect of the breeze was twice as pleasant, even greater when the breeze came up off the salted water’s surface. It was there Nayru had begun to spend some solitary nights, which no one questioned her about. At six months, closer to seven, she was fine on her own, at least within the pack lands. Though ever friendly and polite to all she chose to spend more and more time alone, even as she grew closer to Conor and Gideon. And Nayru was sure that with this sudden streak of independence the white lady had left her. If the white lady had ever been a separate being at all.
Only weeks before Nayru had accepted the dream creature’s presence every night as reality. Now she was not so certain. If the older wolf had been real, why did she leave now? Nayru began to believe it had been childish fantasies. And that night, the last time Nayru saw the white lady, when she had actually appeared outside of a dream, Nayru wrote that off too. She had been tired and thinking too hard. Spirits and dreams and such did not exist, not outside of one’s own mind. Even that cat, the one she had almost though was a spirit, so strange, it was just a cat. How silly she had been. Now though, now Nayru felt she was at the half way point to adulthood. She could shape her own mind, question reality, forget her naive beliefs as errors of childhood, and it was easier to do these things alone, at night, and especially overlooking the water crashing against the shore fifty feet below.
Nereid, as that was what the place was called Nayru learned, was beautiful. Wolfville was alright, Berwick almost beautiful and the vineyards were secluded and lonely most days. Nereid was abandoned but not lonely, at least not during the night. Too comfortable in herself to feel lonely, Nayru pondered her growing fondness for some of the lands in Dahlia de Mai. Before she had come here because she had been told to, she had not thought it over, but now Nayru didn’t see a reason to leave. She liked Dahlia, the spring, the island with the birds, and these cliffs. She liked the members of the pack, they were, in general, good wolves. Yes, she would stay. But in Conor’s house? She wasn’t sure, there might be a time when she preferred her old room there to the solitude of Nereid, but if she was going to jump into her own self and away from the others now was as good a time as any.